by Kate Hewitt
The Forbidden Series
Billionaires who can look, but shouldn’t touch!
For Logan Black, Jaiven Rodriguez and Zair al Ruyi, New York City is spread out before them like the Garden of Eden…and no one knows the sweet taste of forbidden fruit better than America’s most ruthless billionaires!
Jaded and cynical, with a darkness that threatens to consume them whole, they think they’ve seen it all. But temptation has something new in store for each of them…
When Louise Jensen spent one wicked night with the devastatingly handsome Jaiven Rodriguez, she thought it would be enough. But now that Jaiven has had a taste of his greatest fantasy, he wants more. Louise is about to be taken on a sensual journey by this billionaire bad boy!
Collect all three novels in The Forbidden Series:
THE BILLIONAIRE’S INTERN by USA TODAY bestselling author Maisey Yates
THE BILLIONAIRE’S FANTASY by USA TODAY bestselling author Kate Hewitt
THE BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT by USA TODAY bestselling author Caitlin Crews
The Billionaire’s Fantasy
Part 4
The Forbidden Series
Kate Hewitt
To Maisey and Caitlin. It was just as fun the second time round.
THE BILLIONAIRE’S FANTASY,
KATE HEWITT
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
SHE WAS THE embodiment of every naughty nun and sexy schoolteacher fantasy he’d ever had. Which, Jaiven acknowledged, had to be stretching it since Louise Jensen didn’t look like either, dressed as she was in a perfectly normal wrap dress in some semiclingy material and a pair of low heels.
It was the glasses, he decided. Chunky, square black frames that somehow highlighted rather than hid her vivid hazel eyes. And her laugh. She had a tense way of holding herself; she held a glass of wine in one hand and cradled her elbow with the other, as if she were only just keeping herself together. But she had a surprising, sexy, dirty laugh.
The whole package—the glasses, the laugh, the ruler-straight posture and the fact that he knew she was a professor at Columbia—made him decide to take her to bed.
Judging by the covert glances she’d been shooting his way, he was pretty sure she wanted to go there.
Admittedly she wasn’t his usual type; Jaiven preferred his bed partners to be vacuous, shallow and well-endowed. Those qualities, he found, made sex the simple and pleasurable transaction he wanted and needed it to be.
Louise Jensen was neither shallow nor vacuous, although she definitely fulfilled his well-endowed requirements. Different though she might be, Jaiven still wanted her. Still intended to have her.
He drained the rest of his beer and glanced around the private ballroom, guests milling around all that gilt and marble, chatting softly. Even their laughter sounded entitled, like the tinkling of expensive crystal.
Except for Louise. Her laugh was louder than everyone else’s, and every time he heard it, which admittedly hadn’t been that often, he experienced a jolt of lust.
He normally avoided parties like this. He hated all the snobbery and schmoozing; everyone was trying to prove themselves in some way and he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t even if he wanted to.
He also stood out amidst all these preening peacocks. He could feel their curious, sideways glances taking in the tattoo visible on the side of his neck, the once-broken nose, the fact that even though his tuxedo was top-of-the-line it still felt like a monkey suit.
He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension that knotted there, and then decided to hell with it. Sex was the easy and simplest solution. Best way to relax, hands down.
And he knew just whom he intended to relax with.
He glanced at Louise again, openly, not hiding his interest as she so obviously was. Even though her back was to him he knew she could feel his stare, saw it in the way she shifted slightly, clutched her elbow more tightly and took another hasty sip of wine.
Did she have a thing for bad boys? Tattoos? Jaiven had certainly come across that little fetish before. Whatever it was, she was clearly interested in him, even if she wanted to act as if she wasn’t.
She’d been sliding him glances while she was sipping her drink and then hurriedly looking away, quickly saying something or laughing too loudly.
Jaiven smiled, the tension inside him already starting to loosen. This would be both interesting and easy, a particularly enjoyable combination, and the perfect way to end his evening.
“Jaiven.” His friend and host of the party, Alex Diaz, clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a knowing smile, and Jaiven rolled his eyes. “I know this is your personal hell. Not just a party, but one celebrating an engagement.”
“Two strikes,” Jaiven agreed equably. He wouldn’t begrudge the happiness of one of his oldest friends; it was just bizarre that Alex had found it with a woman, in a relationship. A permanent relationship, something they’d both vowed to avoid.
People changed, Jaiven supposed, even if he didn’t think he ever had or could. Yet Alex seemed happy with Chelsea Maxwell, the once-celebrated talk show host and now head of some high-profile charity. He didn’t get it, but then Chelsea, with her glossy television looks and frosty attitude, was so not his type.
But her sister Louise was. She would be. For a night, at least.
Alex moved off to greet another guest and Jaiven turned to Louise. She was by herself now, heading toward the bar for another drink, and if the slightly unsteady walk was anything to go by, she’d already had a few. Not too drunk, though. Jaiven didn’t do drunken sex. Too much messy emotion, too many regrets—and he had enough of his own already.
Smiling in anticipation, he headed toward her.
*
Louise reached the bar and set her empty wineglass down on the polished mahogany surface just a little too hard. She winced at the thunking sound, and the bartender whisked it away with a bland face. Classy joint, this.
She steadied herself with one hand, wished she hadn’t worn these stupid heels. They were all of three inches high but they felt like stilettos in comparison to the sensible shoes she usually wore.
Her dress felt uncomfortable too, too tight and revealing. She wore pantsuits to work and the occasional knee-length skirt, sensible blouses, a nicely tailored blazer. The stereotypically boring wardrobe for a single, female academic.
But she’d wanted to dress up for her little sister’s engagement party, wanted to celebrate in style. Aurora, or Chelsea as she now was known, had escaped the misery of their childhood. She’d found a man who made her happy, a man who would cherish her and keep her safe. That was certainly worth celebrating.
It was just too bad Louise hadn’t found the same.
“Another one?” The bartender asked, pointing to her wineglass, and Louise nodded.
Two glasses of wine and she was feeling a little tipsy. A little weepy too, because Chelsea’s happiness was casting her own life into rather bleak shadow. Which was selfish, she told herself as she accepted the glass of wine from the bartender. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself at her sister’s engagement party; she should be thi
nking of Chelsea.
But thinking of Chelsea was hard, because even though they were becoming closer now, they had so much sad and sordid history behind them, as well as fifteen years of estrangement. You didn’t get over that in a night, or even a year.
Maybe ever.
Sighing, Louise took a rather large sip of wine.
“I was going to buy you a drink, but I see you’ve beaten me to it.”
Everything in her jolted at the sound of the male voice—a sexy, accented rumble—because she knew without turning who was talking to her.
That man, the one she’d been stupidly sneaking looks at all evening. Had he noticed? Just the possibility made her insides curl with both a mix of humiliation and anticipation. He was talking to her.
She took a deep breath, turned to him with what she hoped was the kind of airy insouciance so many other women seemed to manage with effortless ease. “Thanks for the offer, anyway, but…” Whatever she’d been going to say evaporated in the emptiness of her brain because all she could do was look.
Did he know how sexy he was?
Clearly he did, judging from that quirky little half smile. But even the man’s arrogance couldn’t detract from the whole, mouthwatering package.
Wicked amber eyes. Dark hair, cut short enough to show off the sculpted perfection of his skull, his jaw, his cheek—all hard, unforgiving lines.
His nose wasn’t perfect. It had clearly been broken at least once sometime in the past, but that just added to his dangerous appeal. This was a man who had lived and lived hard.
And as for his body… Louise willed herself not to drop her gaze, but clearly her brain wasn’t accepting such signals because it dropped of its own accord. He had to be at least six foot three, maybe taller, something she appreciated since she was just a few inches under six feet herself.
And whether he was six foot three or four, he was all rangy, powerful muscle, taut and lean, perfectly proportioned.
And then there was the tattoo. Her gaze moved up again, to the swirls of blue-black ink peeking out from under the starched collar of his shirt. She should definitely not find that sexy. At all.
Jack had had a tattoo. Admittedly his had been on his forearm, a naked woman sprawled provocatively on a motorbike. If she’d had any sense at eighteen, she’d have taken that as a clue.
Not a good bet.
Clearly Jack’s tattoo hadn’t put her off them altogether, because there was something undeniably sexy about this guy’s ink. Something unbelievably sexy about the whole of him: the dark hair and light eyes, the broad shoulders and trim hips, everything about him signifying a restless power, barely leashed.
He reminded her of a tiger, with those amber eyes, that stealthy grace. And tigers, she told herself, could kill you.
“Finished?” he asked softly, a hint of a Spanish accent in his voice, as well as more than a hint of laughter. Louise jerked her gaze up to his knowing one and realized she’d been checking him out with obvious thoroughness for at least a minute.
Good grief. Get out much?
Get laid much?
Not for five years, actually. But she wasn’t going to pick this tiger of a man to break her dry spell. No, definitely not. He was too big, too male, too like Jack. And the last thing she needed was to get it on with a man who reminded her of her ex-husband.
Except this man made Jack seem like a pussycat. He was taller, bigger, stronger, more everything.
Which just made him more dangerous. Lethal.
Definitely someone to stay away from, even if she couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by his raw sex appeal.
“Yep, finished,” she informed him with what was meant to be airiness but sounded more like apology. Yes, I am clearly desperate. Moving on.
“Good, because after I bought you a drink, I was going to suggest we leave this party.”
Shock jolted through her system, sending her pulse into hyperdrive. Was he actually coming onto her? She scrabbled for words, cocked what she hoped was a haughty eyebrow. “Is that how it’s done these days?”
“That’s how I do it.”
Louise had no trouble believing him. She took another sip of wine, her mind racing. This man wanted her. In bed. And she was honest enough to admit she wanted to be there, but…
It was way too dangerous. In so many ways.
“Not much of a pickup line,” she observed with a touch of acid. The man shrugged, all easy, relaxed grace.
“It was more statement of fact.”
She lowered her glass, pursed her lips. “That Neanderthal caveman thing?” she informed him. “Not a turn-on.”
His lips curved in a slow, sure smile. Okay, that was a turn-on. His smile made her stomach plunge, her mind empty. “I’m not into caveman tactics, Louise. But there’s no point pretending you don’t want me as much as I want you, is there?”
Fire raced through her, heated her cheeks. She was both utterly appalled and unbearably aroused by his plain speaking. When had a man last said he wanted her, and with such cool, calm certainty?
Umm…still thinking about that one.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, and he lifted one huge shoulder in a negligent shrug.
“I asked.”
“I don’t know yours.”
Amusement danced in his eyes, turning them to pure gold. Good Lord, she was in trouble. “Then do the same.”
“Fine.” She was, Louise realized, clutching her wineglass as if it were a life preserver. Any harder and it would shatter. She forced herself to relax. “What’s your name?”
“Jaiven. Jaiven Rodriguez.” He paused, his firelit gaze steady on her. “I’m an old friend of Alex’s.”
“All right, Jaiven.” His name sounded strange and yet weirdly right on her tongue. Familiar too, although she didn’t know why or how. “As appealing as your…proposition might be, I can’t leave this party. Chelsea is my sister, and I’m her maid of honor.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So?”
Already Louise could imagine what his skin would look like underneath his shirt: like burnished gold. Silky-smooth, his chest hair crisp and rough under her fingers—
Stop this right now. “So?” she repeated, her voice just a little too high. “So, that would be rude.”
“I’m sure Chelsea would understand.”
“Why? Because you’re such a stud?”
He laughed softly, a huff of sound that wound its way around her. “That too, but mainly because she’s in her own little world. She doesn’t need you right now.”
No, she didn’t. Sudden tears stung Louise’s eyes and she quickly glanced away. She was a little bit drunk and definitely overemotional, not a good combination. Definitely not a state in which she should be making any decisions about her love life. Or sex life, rather, since she was under no illusions about what Jaiven Rodriguez wanted. A good time in the sack, not a lifetime commitment, or even breakfast.
“I can’t,” she said after a moment, realizing how revealing that statement was. She couldn’t, not that she didn’t want to. But Jaiven had probably known she wanted to from the moment he’d walked into the room. He must have seen all her darting little looks, felt her interest and desire as if they were coming off her in waves of heat. Maybe they were.
How totally humiliating, not to mention stupid, because Jaiven Rodriguez was surely way out of her league.
And yet he wanted her.
That, Louise thought, had to be the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. Simply stated desire.
“I have to stay here for Chelsea,” she told him, her tone resolute. Because I didn’t before. When Chelsea was only sixteen, she’d walked away from her, left her to make her way in a world that had been cruel and unforgiving to them both for far too long already. The memory of that last meeting was burned onto her brain, seared into her soul.
She’d had her own plans, a scholarship to the University of Alabama, a ticket out of the trailer park. Chelsea had two years left of high sc
hool and a serious boyfriend on the football team she didn’t want to leave.
Look, Louise, just go. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Rick.
And so Louise had ignored the hint of vulnerability in her sister’s eyes, had chosen only to see the defiant tilt of her chin. And she’d walked away, gone to live her own life at college. When she’d returned for her October break, Chelsea had disappeared. She hadn’t seen her sister again for fifteen years.
Fifteen years to think about what she should have done differently. To wonder, regret, and burn with both guilt and shame.
She and Chelsea had forgiven each other now, and Louise had moved on from the guilt, but she could still hear and feel its echo, especially in moments like this one, when Chelsea was so happy and she’d had too much to drink.
“Fair enough,” Jaiven said easily, bringing her back to the present with slamming force. She felt a ridiculous flicker of disappointment. He was going to give up that easily?
Of course he is, you idiot.
Jaiven hoisted his beer bottle in a mocking toast. “Never say you didn’t do your duty as a bridesmaid.”
He turned away, and she watched him go with a churning mixture of relief and regret.
Jaiven Rodriguez was definitely not the kind of man she should go home with. Go anywhere with. She needed safe. Unthreatening. Maybe even boring.
Jaiven was none of those.
But for a single night…a night to remember, to remind you you’re actually a woman and that you’re alive…
Jaiven seemed just about the perfect choice.
He was right, though, when he’d said Chelsea didn’t need her, Louise thought an hour later. She’d stuck to water and was coming down from her tipsy state so she felt only flat and tired. Chelsea had introduced her to a few media types, tried to include her, but Louise couldn’t make the effort.
It was only ten o’clock but she wanted nothing more than to go home to her one-bedroom apartment near Columbia and curl up in bed with the TV on mute and a pile of essays she had to mark. Just another typical Saturday night in the life of Louise Jensen.